Young Leaves Of Love (3)

Lucien was happy that Marguerite had taken time and effort for his sake.

Moreover, the embroidery Marguerite had given him reminded him of something important.

“You said you wanted to go to the sea.”

For the past several days, he had been worrying about how to close the distance between himself and Marguerite.

But there had been no need for that.

“When my work settles down, let’s go to the de Broy territory. I haven’t been there since I was young, and if I’m to inherit the land, I need to see the situation there with my own eyes.”

From the beginning, Marguerite had told him what she wanted to do. It was Lucien’s own preconceptions that had made him doubt and question it.

“Really!?”

Marguerite’s face lit up instantly. Her gaze soon turned dreamy, and a soft sigh escaped her lips.

“I want to see whales. I hear there are enormous, enormous creatures called whales in the sea, and that they spout fountains every time they breathe.”

“I’ve heard of them. If we take a ship out, we should be able to see them.”

“Oh, how exciting! And I saw in an illustrated guide that there are many strange creatures that aren’t fish as well.”

Those very longings of Marguerite were packed into the tapestry.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve been talking only about myself…”

As if thinking she had wanted Lucien to be pleased, Marguerite’s brows drooped.

Seeing that expression, Lucien’s hand moved almost naturally.

“I want to hear your stories.”

Lucien smiled as he stroked Marguerite’s hair.

“You can think of it this way—what makes you happy is what makes me happy.”

“……”

“…? What’s wrong?”

Lucien tilted his head at Marguerite, who had gone silent with a serious expression—and then it happened.

Marguerite’s complexion, which had just begun to settle, suddenly flushed red as if bursting into flame. Not just her cheeks, but from the tips of her ears down to her neck, she turned so red it looked like steam might rise from her.

“Eh…”

“Th-thank you very much! Then I must do my best from tomorrow onward…! F-for tonight, I think I’ll go to bed early.”

No sooner had she said it than Marguerite pressed Marron into Lucien’s arms and rushed out of the room. The door to the adjoining room opened and closed almost immediately.

“……”

Do her best—at what, exactly?

Lucien looked at Marron, and Marron looked back at him.

No sound came from Marguerite’s room.

‘What did I… say to her?’

Staring at the door that led to the adjoining room, Lucien finally began to grasp what he had done and what he had said—and Marguerite’s reaction to it.

A gradual warmth crept into Lucien’s cheeks as well.

Meanwhile, Marguerite, having returned to her own room, stared at the locked door while waiting for Anna to come.

‘What do I even mean by “do my best”!? B-but still, Lucien-sama said something like that…’

Lucien had said that what made Marguerite happy was what made him happy.

‘Could something that wonderful… really be possible…?’

Separated by only a single wall, the two of them stood there in a daze, their faces red, each on their own side.

Carrying a loudly pounding heartbeat in her chest, Marguerite showed her face in the dining hall.

Several days had passed since she had given the tapestry to Lucien. And yet, the pounding still had not faded. It had been the same when she returned from the Clavel family’s evening party.

She had forgotten about it while immersing herself in embroidery, but—

Lucien’s smile would not leave her mind.

Marguerite had, until just now, forgotten how extraordinarily handsome Lucien was. And for some reason, she suddenly remembered it again.

No one had ever told her that they wanted to hear her talk. She truly thought Lucien was kind. To have someone like him as her husband was a blessing. …Until now, her thoughts would have stopped there.

But she found herself wanting him to know her.

She found herself wishing for a future where they would know each other, laugh together, and live side by side.

‘I really am… thinking about Lucien-sama…’

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

“No, not at all.”

Marguerite shook her head with a smile at her concerned father-in-law, Alban, but her demeanor quickly shifted into one lacking her usual spirit.

Alban tilted his head, then noticed Marguerite’s gaze fixed on Lucien, who stood nearby with a red face and awkward movements of his own, and he smiled warmly.

Incidentally, a few hours later—

“What do you think—does this seem like a good atmosphere?”

In a reception room that had been thoroughly cleared of other people, Lucien summoned Nicholas and, with a desperate expression, sought his friend’s opinion.